


snapdragon

by galactic_chiroptera



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Written for a Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactic_chiroptera/pseuds/galactic_chiroptera
Summary: snap·drag·on /ˈsnapˌdraɡən/ n.a plant of the figwort family, bearing spikes of brightly colored two-lobed flowers that gape like a mouth when a bee lands on the curved lip. can symbolize strength and power of will, or deception and concealment.





	snapdragon

Soren Hagen never presented in a field of magic. 

Growing up he always dreamed about what he’d present as when he came of age. He’d hoped for something in the evocation field- being able to wield fire like a dancer’s ribbon, having lightning and ice crackling at his fingertips - like his mother’s original studies. Or maybe illusion, like his father - being able to weave pictures and colors with his music and voice.

  
But the years went on. He graduated high school without presenting, but his parents assumed he was just a late bloomer. He took the placement exam - and the results came out negative. At university, they placed him in chiefly theoretical classes - researching magic and spells, for the  _ real _ magicians. Of course, rumors flew - the son of  _ Victoria Hagen,  _ a theoretical magician? Surely there was some sort of mistake.

For the most part, he wasn’t bothered by it. But part of him remained hopeful… and jealous. Watching his older brother tinker with enchanted trinkets like he could speak them into existence, seeing his younger sister take after their father in the illusion field... 

Finally, he decided he was done. He switched his major out of magical studies completely, changing over to astronomy and throwing himself into it. 

And as for the gods, no matter how many times he asked politely, no matter how many late-night desperate pleas he made for them to unlock some sort of latent magic in him, they never answered.

But there was always a  _ tiny _ part that was convinced that  _ somehow _ something would happen.

 

The sun hangs low over the cul-de-sac, painting the early morning sky orange. Mist and dew still lurk amongst the neighbor’s rosebushes, not yet burnt away by the heat of the day. The only sound is the clicking of the sprinklers a few houses down.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”   
  
_ “No.”  _   
  
Soren cracks a grin at the look on his mother’s face, shifting the pack on his shoulder. “I’ll be back by sundown, don’t worry,” he promises. “The manor is barely an hour’s walk.

His little sister Lisbeth peers around their mother. “Through the  _ forest,”  _ she adds, wiggling her fingers at him. Soren sticks his tongue out at her.    
  
“It’s not haunted, squirt, I’ve told you that.” She sticks her tongue out in response. “Save me a spot at dinner. I’ll get the annie- anti-”   
  
“ Antirrhinum ,” his mother supplies with a resigned sigh. “Snapdragons.”   
  
“-and I’ll come right back.”

“You better,” his mother warns, “I really do need it for this spell.”   
  
He laughs and leans in to hug her, taking in the familiar sharp scent of mint and fennel clinging to her braid. He draws back, offering them a smile he hopes is reassuring, then waves over his shoulder, heading for the gate.

  
  
  


Three hours later, Soren is tired, sweaty, and  _ very _ lost. He sighs, sitting down on a nearby log and running a hand through his dark hair. Then he cringes as it comes back damp with sweat, and wipes it on his leggings.   
  
A quick glance around assures him he has  _ absolutely _ no idea where he is; he sighs, pulling out his phone to check where he went wrong.    
  
“Having trouble?”    
  
Soren nearly jumps out of his skin, toppling backwards off the log. He scrambles to prop himself up and looks around, heart pounding in his chest. 

Finally, he alights on a small shape. A small red fox, sitting directly across from him, delicately cleaning one dainty black-socked paw. Soren stares for a second.   
  
“I only ask because you’ve passed through here… oh, about four times.”    
  
Soren takes the only natural course of action, and screams.   
  
A moment later it’s in his lap, smacking him with its fluffy tail. “Don’t do that,” it chides, frowning as much as a  _ literal wild fox _ can frown. “Now answer me, are you looking for the manor?”    
  
“Y-yeah-” Soren stammers. “What- who- why? You’re-”   
  
“You can’t get in there without me.” It hops off him. In a blink, there’s a young woman with cropped ginger hair crouched across from him. “There’s a spell. Also, you’re… super lost.”    
  
Ah. Shapeshifter makes a  _ bit  _ more sense.   
  
“How do you know how to get past it?” he asks. _   
_ __   
“There’s a hole. I’m the only one that knows where it is.” The woman winks, straightening and offering a hand. “Come on, up.” Soren takes it and stands, dusting off debris from his leggings and following.

As they walk, he learns her name is Shae, and she lives in the old gardener’s hut on the manor grounds. She clams up whenever he asks her about anything personal, but from what he manages to tease out of her it seems she’s been alone for a while.

  
He’s not expecting an answer when he asked where she studied transformation magic, but she goes quiet for a moment, worrying her lip. “... I didn’t,” she finally replies. “S’a curse. I’ve learned to live with it.”    
  
Soren watches her profile as they walk, Soren begins. “You know, my mother is pretty good at-”

Shae snorts, shaking her head. “I think it’s a little beyond your mom’s expertise, Soren. No offense.”    
  
He falls silent, figures it was worth at least offering judging by the contemplative look that passes over her face. It never occurs to him he hasn’t told her his name yet.

 

Finally, they reach the manor. Sure enough, magic shimmers around the perimeter of the gate, a pale greenish-blue bubble. She leads him up to the gate, running her hand along the bars. “It’s got to be here somewhere,” she murmurs, eyes narrowing. “Sixteen, seventeen, ei- Aha!” Her fingers pass through the metal unharmed, and she offers him a little grin. The entire area seems to warp and shimmer slightly as she slips through. He follows, spellbound.

The other side of the gate is cooler, like the spell has been keeping the humid heat out as well as any nosy hikers. From there, the walk up to the mansion itself is short. Soren lights up, beelining for the snapdragon planters as they come into view and crouching near them. “Oh, they look great! I didn’t expect there to be this many-” He buries his face in one, breathing in the sweet, fragrant scent.   
  
Shae hovers nearby with a faint smile, hands in her pockets. “Must be the old magic. Keeps them preserved.”   
  
“Old magic?” Soren looks at her, intrigued. When she doesn’t reply after a few seconds, he sits back on his heels. “...Shae?” he presses.    
  
She startles. “Hey, what do you say we go in and have a look around?” she says, as if she hadn’t even heard him, and he catches the barest flicker of an odd expression as she looks back at him.   
  
“Is… that allowed?” Shae snorts, rolling her eyes.   
  
“It’s abandoned, of course it’s allowed. I’ve never been in there, let’s go.” 

When he catches up to her, Shae’s already got a window popped open. “Come on!” she says, swinging one leg over the sill and disappearing inside.

_ Ah, what’s the harm?  _ he thinks, then follows.   
  
Inside, he’s immediately hit with the hot, oppressive aura that permeates every inch of the room. He looks around, and that’s when he realizes something is  _ very _ off. The manor looks… lived-in, like someone has recently swept through this room in particular. And on the floor, leading up to the window… pawprints?

And just as it occurs to him  _ who  _ those paws might belong to, the stifling heat hits a breaking point and his knees buckle under him.    
  
A voice seems to fill every fiber of his being.  **_Good, Miss Shaeline. Now bring him downstairs._ **

Then, nothing. 

  
  
  


The first thing Soren’s aware of when he comes to is the sound of someone… humming, some upbeat children’s tune. The second thing is that his hands are bound in front of him, and that he’s on his side on a stone floor. 

He opens his eyes, and takes in the architecture around him. The gears turn- he must be in the entryway of the manor, then, judging by the sweeping staircase, high ceiling, and marble floors. As he struggles to push himself to his knees, he hears, “Ah, you’re awake! Good.”    
  
Casting his gaze around, he finally settles on the only other figure in the room: a young man, with blonde hair pulled into a low bun, lounging in a chair at the foot of the stairs.    
  
“Wh-” Soren’s voice comes out raspy; he clears his throat and tries again. “What do you want with me?” 

“What do  _ I  _ want with  _ you?”  _ The man looks surprised, eyebrows jumping. “Why, you called to  _ me.”  _ He puts on a falsetto, one Soren realizes is supposed to be  _ him.  _ “Please, someone, anyone, hell, even Lughnasa, do  _ something _ to make me special!” His voice drops again. “Though you, Soren… you’re already special. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

_ Lughnasa…  _ Soren mentally flicks back through his studies, remembering that name- a high-ranking chaos deity in the high pantheon, cast out for his trickery and mischief. 

Before he can reply, the man vanishes, reappearing crouched in front of him. “I’ve been trying to get my hands on you for a  _ very _ long time,” he murmurs. “Didn’t miss Shaeline do a good job? Foxes are so delightfully deceptive.”    
  
Soren catches a flicker of motion over Lughnasa’s shoulder, and locks eyes with Shae, looking horribly ashamed of herself. He’s sure the betrayal and confusion are clear on his face before she looks away, and vanishes into the entryway. 

“What do you mean, special?” he says instead of acknowledging  _ that  _ emotional time bomb.

“You have a very… specific type of power.” Lughnasa straightens, gesturing. A circle of greenish light surrounds Soren. “I believe your old books call it… arcane magic. Only accessible with divine intervention, though that’s rare in this day and age… and few can handle possessing it.”   
  
“Because it’s a myth,” Soren says, voice carefully level.  _ Don’t piss off the crazy magician, Soren…  _   
  
“Does this feel like a myth to you?” The man snaps his fingers, and the circle roars to life.    
  
Outside, thunder cracks through the air. Soren lets out a shout and doubles over as energy- silver-blue and ice-cold- rips through his veins without further warning. His senses light up like someone’s turned the dial up to 12, hyper-aware of the coarse rope binding his hands, the cold spot where his mother’s bracelet should be on his wrist, the wind whipping through the air from some unknown source. The hair on the back of his neck stands up on end as a shrill, electric-sounding hum fills the air. 

His last coherent thought is a brief lament for the flowers he told his mother he’d bring back. 

  
  
  


Victoria’s sure it’s a wrong number when she answers the house phone to frantic, ragged breathing, but a second glance confirms it is, in fact, Soren’s phone.

“Hello?” she demands, grip white-knuckled on the handpiece. 

Finally, a faintly Irish voice- “Is this Victoria Hagen?” 

“Yes. Why do you have my son’s phone.” A demand, not a question.

“Meet me at the front gate of the abandoned manor. Bring your wand.” The line goes dead.

  
  
  


The door slams open; something about it draws Soren’s attention, pulling his awareness back from the edge of the silvery-blue abyss that threatens to consume him. He pries his eyes open, trying to locate the source- 

And sees his mother, wand in hand, fire at her fingertips and blazing in her eyes. Shae’s at her shoulder, jaw set with steely resolve. “Let my son go, you bastard,” Victoria snarls, and Lughnasa laughs delightedly. Fire fills the room, and Soren is overpowered once again. 

He opens his eyes a few minutes later, and even in his state it becomes clear that his mother’s losing the battle.  _ I have to do something _ , he thinks, borderline delirious.

He manages to push himself to his knees once more. He recalls the focusing exercises he learned in elementary school- breathe in, channel the power out like an electrical current. The fire in his blood fades, drawing into a pit in his chest. And finally, he stands, the rope binding his wrists crumbling to ash. Three sets of eyes go to him as he leaves the circle of light unharmed.

“Let her go,” he demands, one hand rising of its own volition to point at where Lughnasa has ahold of Victoria’s top, a ball of swirling black magic ready to strike. His voice reverberates with something, and ancient runes flash behind his eyes as his own magic-  _ his magic!-  _ follows his subconscious instructions, blasting Lughnasa back. The trickster hits the staircase with a very human  _ oof.  _

The entryway is dead silence for all of three seconds. 

When he doesn’t move, Soren makes a beeline for his mother, throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. “You- how did you-”    
  
“Your friend called me. Told me everything.” He feels her look over at Shae and lifts his head a little, regarding her. She squirms a bit under the neutral gaze, clearly awaiting her judgement. They’re interrupted, however, as Lughnasa groans, pushing himself upright.    
  
“Fine,” he grumbles, despite the smirk that crosses his face. “I see when I’m not wanted. You’re welcome, kid.” And with a snap, he’s gone.    
  
“He won’t be back,” Shae says hollowly, staring at the empty space he leaves. “That was all he wanted.”   
  
“To cause trouble,” Victoria sniffs. “Typical.”    
  
Soren pulls away from his mother and approaches Shae. For a moment, they just look at each other, both reluctant to make the first move. Finally, he offers a small smile. “Thanks. Two rescues in one day, huh?”    
  
Shae chokes on a laugh, and he pulls her into a hug. “I should have told you,” she murmurs into his shoulder.   
  
He pulls back a tiny bit, looking at her. “Tell me about it over dinner? Mom makes a mean lasagna.”   
  
She smiles, a tiny, tremulous thing.   
  
“I’d like that.” 


End file.
